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“I asked a few of the boys, and they said he didn’t start limping until he was back in the pens,” Reba said. “They think he got scraped up against the fence, but I didn’t see any jagged pieces of metal sticking out. It’s not bleeding a lot, but I can’t get close enough to take a look at the wound.”
“He’s in a mood, that’s for sure.” Shane went over to the gate, but Vidar charged him, pawing the ground.
“Don’t open that,” she warned.
“Settle down, asshole,” he shouted at the bull who tried to buck him with his horns through the fencing.
“Does that usually work?” Reba asked.
Shane ran a hand through his short blond hair. “It works when my father yells it at me.”
It wasn’t fair that a man that good-looking was also funny. It occurred to her again that the way to get beyond Kilgore’s shittiness was to take up with a cowboy just like Shane.
“He’s hurting,” she said. “I’ve got a tranq to settle him down and take away the pain. But I’ve got to get close to him to do it. If you can lead him into the squeeze chute, I can put the head gate down and treat him.”
“I’ll go get some rope.”
It didn’t take Shane long to come back with a lasso. She liked the way his arms looked as he twirled the rope a few times while Vidar glared at him. Shane managed to loop it over the bull’s neck on the first shot.
“It’s almost like you’ve done this before,” Reba teased.
He gave her a sour look. “I used to make my living doing this.”
“I know. I was joking.”
Shane just grunted. “Were you around when I was riding?”
“No, but my baby sister was. She was way too young for you, though.” Reba arched a look in his direction. “And we would have hog-tied you if you had looked at her twice.”
He just flicked a glance at her. “Don’t believe all the rumors you’ve heard about me.”
Vidar tried to shake the rope off, but Shane tightened it, wrapping it around his forearm a few times.
“Come on, you big bastard,” he said and led the bull toward the narrow cattle chute.
When Vidar settled down, Shane climbed the fence to be in the pen with him. Reba tensed, thinking that Vidar would use the opportunity to act up.
But Shane muttered something that she couldn’t quite catch. Vidar heard it, though, and flicked his ears, but didn’t do anything else. Vidar balked when Shane encouraged him to move closer to the cattle chute.
The cattle chute was designed to hold the animal in place by enclosing it on three sides with adjustable panels that could be tightened or loosened to fit the size of the cow or bull. Reba stood at the front where the head gate was located. Once Vidar was in the chute, she would close it around his neck, which would keep him from moving his head and potentially injuring her.
But first, they had to get the ornery critter into it.
“Careful,” Reba said, following along on the outside of the pen.
“Áfram!” Shane said louder, speaking in a language Reba couldn’t identify. “Fara heim,” he continued. Whatever he was saying, Vidar was calming down. Eventually, the bull allowed himself to be led into the chute. Securing the back, so Vidar couldn’t change his mind and escape, Shane said, “All yours, Doc.”
“What did you say to him?”
Shane ducked his head and she saw a reddening move up his neck to his cheeks. “It’s Old Norse. I basically said, let’s go home.”
“Well, it worked.” Reba secured the head gate. Vidar pulled back and stomped, but was, in essence, trapped.
Moving around to his flank, she took out a syringe filled with pain medication. She plunged the needle into the bull’s hindquarters. Vidar thrashed and bellowed, but within moments, his movements began to slow.
Crouching to get a better look, Reba cursed.
“What?” Shane said.
